Into the Dream
by Mystical Magician
Summary: Multiple crossover drabbles. There is a certain air about people who have travelled through dreams, and Albus Dumbledore unknowingly attracts them. Labyrinth, Narnia, Terabithia, DIRS, Mirrormask, LotR, Diana Wynne Jones, Charles de Lint, Hetalia, etc.
1. Show Me Your Dreams

Harry Potter/Dark Is Rising/Labyrinth crossover drabble. It ended differently than I pictured it, but oh well.

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I have found the warm caves in the woods,  
_filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,  
__closets, silks, innumerable goods;  
__fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves.  
__**-Anne Sexton, "Her Kind"**_

Sarah strode quickly down a sidewalk in London, a large box of posters and announcements for the newest play in her arms. The wind whipped her long brown hair out of her face and caused her to shiver with cold. She was panting lightly at the exertion, but she couldn't stop yet.

"I'm late. I'm late. I'm late, I'm late, I'm late. Not time to say hello, goodbye, I'm late, I'm late, I'm late," she sang under her breath. She felt something of an affinity with Alice in Wonderland, ever since that night she returned from the Underground.

She was unable to see where she placed her feet, and no matter how the goblins respected her, it was in their nature to be mischievous. She tripped one of those small, invisible goblins and the box fell from her hands. Several of the posters flew through the air around her, and she barely managed to keep from falling completely. Luckily the ground was dry, so the stack of papers wasn't ruined.

She didn't notice the two men approaching as she quickly gathered up her fallen posters and thrust them haphazardly into the box.

Albus Dumbledore enjoyed these occasional trips through Muggle London. It was even more pleasant that his old friend, Will Stanton, had visited at last. Will often traveled around the world, seemingly unable to stay in one place for too long. It had been years since he had last seen the other man, but he hadn't changed. Will had an ageless quality about him, making it impossible to tell how old he was, and Albus felt that it was rude to ask. He had never seen him with a wand, either, but Albus was certain that he was a wizard. He was unsure where this certainty stemmed from, but his mind strangely enough never dwelt on this irregularity either.

Currently they were deep in discussion on various topics, from archaic wizarding texts to Muggle history, when the plight of a young woman caught their attention.

Sarah scowled, muttering to herself. "That was not funny," she stated, eyes cutting in a glare at the cackling goblin. She rolled her eyes when he scampered off, completely unrepentant. "Damn it. I'm late, the Director's going to kill me, the art department and the theater department have begun what appears to be a feud that will last for years, and the goblins just had to pick this time to play their tricks," she hissed.

"Are you all right, Miss?" Albus questioned as he and his companion paused.

Sarah looked up at the soft words, the last of her papers in her hand. Her gaze lingered on the older man with long hair and a beard that reminded her of the Wise Man of the Labyrinth. His blue eyes behind half moon glasses gazed down upon her with some concern, and she felt the magic that clung to him as it buzzed against her skin.

"Fine, thank you," she said, forcing down her frustration at her current luck.

Her eyes shifted to meet the other man, and Sarah froze, half kneeling on the concrete sidewalk. "What are you?" she breathed, dark eyes locked on Will's stormy grey. He burned with order and light, so unlike the wild feel of Jareth's presence, and perhaps more powerful. Ever since she was fifteen, Sarah had been very sensitive to magic, and she couldn't help the feeling of apprehension that rose in her.

They were silent for a long while as Albus glanced between them with a furrowed brow.

The man didn't feel evil; quite the opposite in fact. His goodness was so concentrated that it was almost painful. And then the feeling gentled as did his stare, and she could breathe again. At last Sarah stood, box in hand. Will nodded at her, respect in his eyes, and she returned the gesture.

"Forgive me," she said. "I'm late." In an instant she had turned the corner and was gone.

Sarah was very curious, of course, but she was also running late. Besides, she had a whole network of creatures she could she could visit to inquire about the man. A being of such power could hardly go unnoticed.

Albus quirked an eyebrow at his companion, confused by exchange as half-formed suspicious thoughts he didn't realize he had floated through his mind.

"Nothing," Will replied to his unasked question with the barest hint of a smile, his gaze fixed upon a barn owl with mismatched eyes floating silently through the clear sky. "Nothing at all."

* * *

Albus and Will Stanton saw the girl again late that afternoon when they stopped by Diagon Alley. Perhaps he was losing his touch, but Albus hadn't noticed whether or not Will had been politely trying to get rid of him before then. Certainly he hadn't seemed surprised to see the stranger sitting in Fortescue's eating ice cream and laughing with a young boy who seemed to be her brother, both of them looking slightly out of place without robes.

The presence of a goblin guard from Gringott's positioned invisibly outside of the shop shocked him, but he was unsurprised that Will was able to see through invisibility as well.

"Toby, please, don't feed them," the young woman said in exasperation. Her eyes and Will's, when Dumbledore chanced a glance, seemed to follow something that even he couldn't see.

"But Sarah," the blond boy pleaded with large eyes. "They like it so much."

"They're bad enough without sugar. I'd feel responsible for whatever destruction they'd cause."

Toby sighed, and brought a spoonful of ice cream smothered in hot fudge toward his mouth.

"Besides," Sarah continued, licking delicately at her cone. "I don't think they'd appreciate it," and her head tilted slightly to indicate the invisible guard outside the window.

"They're very serious for goblins," Toby mused with a thoughtful frown, chocolate smeared on his chin. He made a face when Sarah reached across the table with a napkin, but Dumbledore could tell how he adored his older sister.

The conversation, on the other hand. It confused him.

"They'd have to be," Sarah replied dryly. "They're bankers after all."

"They're worried," Toby said solemnly.

"They're just overprotective, Toby," she said. "They don't dare cross Himself, and we can't protect ourselves like wizards can." The last was said so softly Dumbledore doubted anyone could hear, but he was rather adept at reading lips.

It surprised him. Who were they? If they were Muggles, how were they able to access the Wizarding World.

"Good afternoon," Will spoke softly, startling the pair. "May we join you?"

Sarah watched him carefully as she motioned for Toby to join her on her side of the booth. "Go ahead."

"I must apologize for my rudeness earlier," the youngest of the Old Ones said. "My name is Will Stanton, and this is my friend, Albus Dumbledore."

The being's name meant nothing to Sarah, but she filed it away for future reference. Dumbledore, on the other hand…

"You are the Headmaster of Hogwarts?" Sarah asked.

"That I am, dear girl," he acknowledged with a friendly smile that the siblings returned. "Your accent sounds American. Are you here on vacation?"

Sarah shook her head. "I'm attending college here in London, but Toby and my parents are visiting. I have to watch the pipsqueak for the day while our parents are sightseeing." She ruffled his hair as he protested and tried to squirm away.

Will, Dumbledore noticed, was watching the interaction wistfully.

Strangely enough, Albus remembered little of the conversation after this point. He remembered pleasant conversation, but not what that conversation had been about. And when the group parted ways, he remembered the awe in the eyes of Sarah and Toby, and the faintly apologetic look that his friend couldn't quite hide when he glanced in his direction.

Albus wondered vaguely what he was apologizing for.

"Maybe you'll find out one day, Albus," Will murmured in a melancholy tone. "I would like it if you could."


	2. Once and Future Queen

Labyrinth/Dark Is Rising/Harry Potter/Narnia crossover. If anyone has any suggestions for additional crossovers that could work with the theme, feel free to tell me. I may or may not use them, depending on if I've seen/read the movie/book and if I am inspired. Thanks!

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"_You are always supposing things," said Lavinia, and her air was very superior. _

"_I know I am," answered Sara, undisturbedly. "I like it. There is nothing so nice as supposing. It's almost like being a fairy. If you suppose anything hard enough it seems as if it were real."  
__-__**Frances Hodgson Burnett, **__**A Little Princess**_

Sarah peeked out from behind the curtains at the dissipating audience. The show had been a success, and she was just beginning to wind down from the high she always received when she acted on a stage. She was still dressed as Demeter from the myth of Persephone and Hades, a role that had caused her to chuckle at the irony. Her long white gown in the style of ancient Greece fluttered lightly as she shifted. She had banned the goblins from messing about anywhere near the stage. No telling what dangerous accidents could occur with them around, and the goblins all knew that Sarah herself could be quite dangerous when she was angry.

Ever since she had run the Labyrinth, Sarah had been particularly sensitive to magic, certainly much more than any witch or wizard she had met. Throughout her performance she had sensed a flickering presence of power. Not like a guttering candle about to be snuffed out, but more like a tree or plant that was struggling to break free of its hibernation.

Sarah's eyes skimmed over the well-dressed audience searching for that taste of dreams and magic. Her gaze skipped over Albus Dumbledore – she had known a wizard was present by the hum in the back of her mind – and focused on the woman almost immediately. She was an older woman with dark hair beginning to grey, and a stately air about her. Her gown was a dark blue, expensive but tasteful. Philanthropist, Sarah characterized after a moment of thought.

Sarah looked harder, and saw within the stranger the shadow of a beautiful young woman. In the glitter of the lights she saw, for a moment, the flash of a crown. And in the dull murmur of the exiting crowd, she heard the low, haunting note of a horn.

It was strange how the woman continued to stare at the stage, though there was nothing there. Sarah knew that those who had once traveled their dreams had a certain look in their eye that others like them recognized. Had this woman recognized that about Sarah? But she did not look happy, or curious, or even indifferent. She looked heartbroken.

She looked lost.

Sarah hesitated. Should she go to the woman? Would that help? Would that make things worse for her?

It was with some relief that she noticed Will Stanton walk in the woman's direction. He must have been in full mortal mindset if Sarah hadn't felt his power. She stepped away from the curtain and headed for the dressing room. It was time for her to shed her costume. The woman was in good hands with Will. He could do what Sarah could not.

Sarah had not been lost since the Labyrinth. She would not know what to say to the woman who looked as though she had been lost for a very long time.

* * *

"Miss Williams is very talented," Albus commented, standing near his friend as the majority of the audience headed for the exit.

"Yes," Will replied with an easy smile. "She is Guardian and Challenger and Heroine. She was cast well."

Albus just smiled in reply, well used to the occasionally cryptic turns in conversation with Will. Turnabout was fair play, he supposed. Curiously, he watched as his companion scanned those of the audience who still remained.

"Ah," Will murmured as he found the person he was looking for. "If you do not mind, Albus, I believe I need to speak with that woman."

"Not at all," he replied lightly. "Lead the way."

Some part of her must have felt the approach, for she looked in the direction of the Old One, and stood immediately.

"My Lady," Will said, bowing before her, more than conscious of the fact that she was one of those rulers of the High Magic, even if she herself did not quite acknowledge it.

"Call me Susan," she replied, her eyes fixed warily on his form, noticing the curious look on his elderly companion's visage.

"And I am Will Stanton," he said, straightening. "This is my friend Albus Dumbledore. A wizard."

Albus looked at him in askance. One did not throw around the existence of the Wizarding World to strangers who were quite probably Muggle. He turned, perhaps to excuse or deny the comment, when he saw Susan's expression. It was conflicted, pained, almost tortured in a way.

"I am not who you think I am," she said tonelessly. "I am not deserving of your respect."

"Forgive me for the contradiction, my lady, but you are. You lost your way, it is true, but only for a while. And you have done much good, in these days and these times with your charity."

Susan remained silent, but tears glittered in her eyes. She had avoided thinking about Narnia for so many years, first pretending it had all been a childish game because it hurt too much to realize she would never return. Then she refused to think of it because Narnia and the knowledge that something was wrong had been connected so intimately with the death of her family. By the time she had come to terms with their absence, she was so ashamed of herself she couldn't bear remembering Narnia or Aslan at all. And here, all at once, she was confronted by the magic and dreams of the world.

"It is lonely, so lonely, to walk this world alone," Will whispered, the words twining around her heart and burrowing into her soul. He knew that loneliness, to wander the world for many lifetimes, alone with no one who truly knew him.

"Peter, Ed, and Lucy. They were all gone, leaving me behind. And I was so awful to them in the end." The words were torn from Susan without her conscious thought.

Will looked to Albus who, up until then, had only been a silent, sympathetic spectator. Albus saw the look, the silent expectation, and the words came to him unbidden, never before spoken, and painfully true. "I blamed myself, when she died. My sister." He looked upon the woman with sorrowful blue eyes. "I pushed them away, leaving them as best as I could when my physical presence was obligated to remain. I was idealistic, perhaps even fanatic, and everything changed when she was killed because I was responsible for it, and I saw how very wrong I was."

He reached out and took a slender hand between his own in a gesture of comfort. "It can be lonely, but not unbearable, my dear. I daresay that she is happy, wherever she is now."

Will smiled gently when she turned to look at him. "They are waiting, beyond Time, for when you join them at last. And I daresay they are proud of you."

Susan regarded them for a long moment, and when she spoke she was, for the first time in many years, Queen Susan the Gentle. "Thank you for the peace you have brought to my mind this night. I have much to think on."

Will bowed, and Albus followed suit, unable to do otherwise in this presence. And then Susan was queen no longer, but merely a woman, sad and a little frightened of the reflection that needed to come, but hopeful for the first time in a long time that her family would forgive her. That Aslan would forgive her.


	3. One Goes Alone

Bridge to Terabithia/Narnia/Mirrormask crossover. I hope this drabble is all right. I don't know Bridge to Terabithia all that well, but I tried.

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She wasn't there, so he must go for both of them. It was up to him to pay back to the world in beauty and caring what Leslie had loaned him in vision and strength.

_**-Katherine Paterson, Bridge to Terabithia**_

The art show was going well, Jess thought contentedly. The dull murmur of voices washed over him as groups of people meandered from one exhibit to the next. One of his paintings had already been sold. He had worked hard to get here, to this large and exceptional gallery in London. It seemed almost surreal that he, a backwater country boy, would become such a success. May Belle had always said he was special, and Ms. Edmunds had always encouraged him, but it was Leslie, like a blazing, brilliant comet who had shot into his life and changed him irrevocably.

He sighed, and his gaze lit upon a woman who was studying one of his paintings with terrible wistfulness. A jolt passed through him as he recognized her. He didn't know who she was, had never seen her in his life, but he recognized her in the same way he had recognized Helena at first sight.

Jess made his way to her side. "Hello," he said without looking at her, choosing instead to examine the painting she seemed so enthralled with. It was the one of the sacred grove, dark with shadows, still and hallowed.

"Good evening," the quiet, stately voice replied. "Is this one of your paintings?"

He turned to look at her with a smile. "It is. I'm Jess Aarons. Pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

"Susan Pevensie," she said. "Likewise."

She glanced at the next painting on the wall, breath hitching at the sight. The top of a castle tower just peeked over a forest of trees, a banner waving in the wind. She blinked back the tears that flooded her vision at the sight.

"You all right, Miss Pevensie?" Jess asked with concern.

"Fine," she replied, pushing back the sudden wave of grief. "Your paintings look so familiar to me, the trees, the creatures, even the castle. Almost like home."

"It's called Terabithia," Jess said. "The kingdom, I mean." He looked at her more closely. "You lost someone as well, to the dreaming."

"My two brothers and younger sister," Susan replied, voice barely above a whisper. "They were called, but I…well."

"She was my best friend," he murmured. "We were in fifth grade and she had just moved into the town. She was creator and queen and, I can say this now, my other half. I was fascinated by her, but I could never quite make myself do more than just tag along. And then, only a few months later, she was gone. My younger sister May Belle became queen rising, and I…I suppose you could say I abdicated." He grinned crookedly at his sympathetic audience. "Took me a while to be able to paint our kingdom, but there you go. It hurt for the longest time just thinking about her, and no matter how many years it's been, I can't quite bring myself to paint her yet. But I wanted to continue what she started, bring a bit of that magic to others."

"You're a better person than I am, Mr. Aarons," Susan said. "I turned my back on my kingdom before my siblings died, and I didn't dare look back once they had. Not until recently. It tears a hole in my heart all over again, but I think I'm getting better bit by bit. I only hope I will see them again someday. And Aslan, if he forgives me."

Jess closed his eyes briefly at the mention of the name. He had never heard it before, but it spoke to him, warming his soul, and he longed to capture that love on canvas and spread it to the world.

"Oh, naw Ms. Pevensie. I'm no better a person than you are. You just had it a bit more difficult maybe. But I'd say you're doin' fine."

"Thank you," she said, and they smiled at each other, two equals, the woman tall and regal, the man easy-going, an invisible crown worn tilted, at an angle.

"I think I shall enjoy the rest of your paintings before deciding on one," Susan said decisively.

"Take all the time you need," Jess replied. He left her to herself then, and made his way to a nearby corner where the figure of a young woman was partly hidden among a large plant.

"Hello, Jess," she said in her distinct British accent as she absently juggled two hackysacks in one hand.

"Helena," he replied. "Shouldn't you be mingling?"

"You know me." She grinned mischievously. "All of the attention sets my heart aflutter so I can hardly think straight."

They laughed. Helena had performed in the family circus since it had first begun. She was hardly shy.

"I hear more honest opinions when I just listen in without the people knowing I'm there. I like to hear what they think without my presence influencing them."

Jess nodded. "True," he commented.

"How is she?" Helena asked, voice reflecting her concern as she motioned toward Susan. "I would have approached, but I think she was more yours than mine."

"She's nobody's but her own," Jess replied with a slight frown. "She was royalty too, I think. Is."

"Sorry, that's not how I meant it." Helena shook her head quickly, her bangs obscuring her vision. "I just meant, I think she was more relatable to your dream than mine. Fantasy more than surreal. I mean, look at how different our artwork is."

Jess grinned. "You should try real art some time."

Helena took the mature way out and stuck her tongue out at him. It was something they had teased each other about since they had met.

"She'll be fine," Jess said, leaning back against the wall with his hands in his pockets. "That Susan's a strong woman."


	4. Windows, Masks, and a Creator

Nan: Thanks for the suggestions! I've never read Barbara Hambly, but I'll definitely start thinking about something with Howl or Chrestomanci.

To everyone else, if you have any more suggestions, please feel free to tell me. I'm running out of inspiration.

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And for those masks who linger on  
_To feast at night upon the pure sea!  
__**-Arthur Rimbaud, "Does She Dance"**_

_Dream lofty dreams, and as you dream, so you shall become. Your vision is the promise of what you shall one day be; your ideal is the prophecy of what you shall at last unveil.  
__**-James Allen**_

Albus Dumbledore was drawn by his curiosity to the crowd that congregated less than a block away from the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron. It seemed a cheerful gathering he noted, with easy laughter and the occasional applause.

There was something strange at work here, he thought as he drew closer. There was a flickering at the edge of his senses, as though he were seeing glimmers of light on a reflective surface. And when he realized what he was feeling, it was as though the light blinded him, the sense of magic blazing. He was stunned by the power of whatever object the crowd was gathered around and wondered how he could never have noticed before. It was alien to him, felt almost nothing like the usual wizardry, and he was intensely curious as to whatever this thing was and what it did.

A girl held the attention of the crowd. Or rather, a young woman, small and petite with short, dark, feathery hair whose bangs brushed against her cheek. Her mouth quirked in an amused smile, and there was a stubborn cast to her chin. She was wearing tight fitting clothes and juggled with incredible skill. She walked, spun, and danced fluidly as she juggled anywhere from three to seven balls.

It was the mask that interested Albus. He had never seen a mirror fashioned into a mask. Or was it a mask fashioned into a mirror? Had the sky been clear of gray clouds he had no doubt that the light reflecting from the mask would be blinding. Perhaps that was why she chose to perform on such a cloudy day?

The performance wound down after a few minutes, the woman finishing with a display of contact juggling. When she pushed back her mask so that it rested on her hair, hinting that the act was done, the crowd began to disperse. She made no move to retrieve her bag, though, and Albus followed her gaze to a familiar young woman.

Sarah, he noticed, was returning the performer's gaze with equal intensity. There was a certain knowing in the exchange that intrigued Albus, though it was no business of his. Then the juggler flashed a grin and nonchalantly tossed a clear ball glowing with some inner light to Sarah.

Sarah laughed and turned to leave with a nod.

When the crowd had cleared, Albus approached the young woman. "Good afternoon," he said pleasantly. "I'm Albus Dumbledore."

"Hullo," she said as she gently placed her mask in her bag. "Helena Campbell." She brushed her hair out of her eyes and held out a hand.

"Your performance was very enjoyable," he complimented. "Where did you learn such skills?"

"Thanks. My parents own a circus, so I've been performing since I was young. I'm actually in London on my own for my art exhibit, so whenever I get a bit homesick I pick a corner and perform a bit."

"Are you an artist then?" Albus asked with obvious interest.

"Yeah," Helena replied. "I'm heading in the direction of the gallery, actually, if you wanted to come along."

"Certainly. I am a great fan of the arts," he said jovially. "In fact, I attended a play starring Miss Sarah Williams several weeks ago. Do you know her well?"

"Who?" Helena questioned, tilting her head a little to the side in puzzlement.

"The young woman you gifted the ball with," he clarified.

"Ah." Her expression cleared. "No, I didn't know her very well, but I recognize her. From the dreaming."

"I beg your pardon?" Albus asked puzzled.

Helena hesitated. "It's not something that can be described, really," she said slowly. "It's something that a very few experience."

Albus acknowledged this regretfully. "Would this have anything to do with that powerful object I sensed in your possession?"

She looked a little startled, and then her expression eased a bit. "You mean the Mirrormask."

"Do you often carry something so powerful around with you?"

"My friend, Valentine, is something of a con artist, and I guess his cynicism rubbed off on me. Not that I wasn't cynical to begin with," she said with a slightly sarcastic twist to her lips. "If I'm away from the circus, I don't feel comfortable leaving this behind in whatever new place I'm inhabiting at the moment."

She fingered her bag absently as they walked. "You know, I never knew whether I created the Mirrormask, or whether I simply imbued the mask with its power."

"You made that Charm?" Albus asked in surprise.

"I am a Creator," Helena replied with a slight smirk. "Not a very good one, I suppose, with all that I don't know or understand about Creating, but I'm learning. And I do love and visit my Creations, and they have their free will and their balance of Light and Dark, so I don't think I'm doing too bad on the whole."

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Albus admitted. Any member of the Wizarding World would have been shocked, which would have made it that much more difficult to admit his confusion. But whatever she was, Helena wasn't a witch.

She patted his arm sympathetically. "I know," she said, "and I shouldn't dump this on you, but there's just something about you that makes me want to confide a little. It helps me, I think. I haven't met any Creators yet. Jess was close, but it was his other who Created, and she died a long time ago."

"How tragic," Albus murmured sympathetically.

"This world tends to lose its dreamers young," Helena acknowledged absently. "The dreams call to us, and we all follow eventually, or we lose the dreams altogether."

"I don't understand," he whispered.

She smiled at him, but offered no further explanation. "I'm sorry," she said instead. "You attract confessions. I said that, didn't I?"

Helena came to a halt, and Albus stopped as well.

"Here we are," she said. "The art show will be continuing for the next few weeks. I hope you enjoy it."

The Headmaster looked up at the glass doors, still slightly dazed by the cryptic conversation.

"It was nice meeting you," Helena said, and with a slight bow she headed for her flat.


	5. Are You or Are You Not

Harry Potter/Mirrormask/Lord of the Rings crossover drabble. I forgot to say the last chapter was Harry Potter/Mirrormask, so sorry if that threw anyone off. I probably won't be updating this for a while, since finals are coming up, and I'll have to reread several books and hope to find some inspiration for new chapters.

Nan: Charles de Lint is one of my favorite authors; I can't believe I didn't think of him! Thanks very much for the suggestion and the review.

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Are you or are you not? Have you the taste of your existence or do you not? Are you within the country or on the border? Are you mortal or immortal?  
_-__**O.R. Melling, **_**The Book of Dreams**

"Valentine is a very important man, you know," Helena said softly, after a long while of waiting to see if the wizard behind her would break the silence. "He has a tower."

"I see," Dumbledore replied.

She wasn't sure he if he did or not, but she didn't contest it. "Back again?" she asked with a smile. "Or did you not go the first time."

"No, I did. But some of the paintings here are so…so passionate and vivid. Oh, there's not really a word for it, but there's a presence in some of these that draws me back. I am very glad you showed me this gallery."

"Yes, the dreamers really add something to the gallery," Helena agreed with a decisive nod. "But I suppose this is what artists do best, bring the magic of our dreams and soul to others."

"I do have a question for you, Miss Campbell," Albus said.

"Oh?"

"What are these creatures here?" He gestured to a small, feline creature with a man's face and thin, tattered wings.

Helena laughed a little to herself. Of all the questions he could have asked, this was not one she had expected. Of course, perhaps he was realizing that some questions were futile. One either discovered the answers themselves, or they never did.

"They're sphinxes. Dangerous when in large groups, if you don't have a book or two to distract them with. They don't read books, you know, they eat them. I made that mistake the first time. They're dangerous alone, too, but then you can distract and confound them with a riddle. They're not the smartest creatures."

She grinned a little as if in reminiscence.

"A very different type of sphinx than I am used to," Albus commented.

"Hmmm. I would expect so," Helena said absently.

* * *

Albus didn't even notice the other man at first. The area around the gallery was familiar to him, and so he paid very little attention to where he was going. Had he not been heading in the strange man's direction, he might have bypassed him altogether.

The stranger looked a bit like himself, he would admit. His beard was a little shorter and grayer than Albus' own, and he wore rough gray robes, but he would guess by the other's appearance that their ages were similar. Perhaps most startling at all, he leaned on a staff in the middle of the sidewalk, gazing around him with interest. The Muggles did not appear to see him at all, not even noticing as they swerved around him, never breaking stride. Paying closer attention, he saw the edges of the man seemed to blur, as though he were not quite there.

"Greetings, my good man," Albus said cautiously. "I am Albus Dumbledore."

The man bowed to him slightly at the courtesy. "I am called many things, but most often Gandalf. Are you one of the wizards of this age?"

"That I am," Albus replied, a little taken aback. "If I may ask, what exactly has happened or is happening to you?"

"Ah," Gandalf sighed. "I fought the Balrog and smote him at last, but it took too much from me, and now I am lost, straying out of thought and time. I expect I shall be called back soon, but it is not so unpleasant to be lost. I am a wanderer, and this is a most fascinating world. The advancements of the human world…" He trailed off, looking about him at skyscrapers and roads with a sigh. "I do prefer the cleanliness of my home, the untouched forests and rolling plains, but there is so much to learn, all of this new knowledge." His eyes gleamed with the enthusiasm of a scholar. "Even the magic of this world, is so foreign and transformed from what I know."

"There is never enough time to learn new things," Albus agreed a little wistfully.

Gandalf smiled kindly at him, the two in complete accord.

Dumbledore noticed first, the encroaching of a brilliant white light. The pedestrians saw nothing, but they felt it. They straightened, slowed their hurry, and looked about them with an unconscious smile as the light passed through.

"So," Gandalf sighed. "It is time already. Back to war and the end of an age, for good or ill." His fathomless blue eyes looked deep into Albus' own. "Good fortune to you, Albus Dumbledore," he said. "It was most fascinating meeting you."

"And you as well," Albus replied. And then Gandalf had disappeared, and the light rushed through him, filling his soul with awe and reverence. He shivered a little, the tremor compounded by the memories of some of the art in the gallery, and decided it was past time to head for home. Albus suddenly and a bit desperately needed grounding in the familiar and – to him – mundane, or he thought he might go quietly mad.


	6. La Belle Dame Sans Merci

Harry Potter/Mirrormask/Labyrinth/Fire and Hemlock crossover. Fire and Hemlock is a more obscure work of Diana Wynne Jones, I guess, but it seemed to fit well with the theme. I'm not really happy with this drabble, but it will have to do.

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And there she lullèd me asleep  
_And there I dreamed - Ah! woe betide!  
__The latest dream I ever dreamed  
__ On the cold hill side._

_I saw pale kings and princes too,  
__ Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;  
__They cried - "La Belle Dame sans Merci  
__ Hath thee in thrall!"  
__**-John Keats, La Belle Dame Sans Merci**_

Originally Polly and Mr. Lynn had been searching the streets of London for his car. By now, having completely forgotten which streets they had already searched, and where they thought it had been parked, the unlikely pair was simply wandering and discussing the further adventures of Tan Coul and his assistant, Hero.

"It's a magician fighting an evil shape-shifting king," Polly was explaining with all the confidence of a child. "The magician is almost drained of his power when Tan Coul finds them and defeats the king."

"Oh, but surely the king isn't evil," Thomas Lynn protested nervously. "Perhaps he's just misguided?"

Polly's features took on a mulish cast for moment, before she sighed. "All right," she said grudgingly. "But Tan Coul still saves the magician, and he offers him a reward. No, that's not quite right." She trailed off, brow furrowed in thought.

"Advice," Tom said suddenly. "He gives Tan Coul and Hero invaluable information about the quest for the Obah Cypt. Or, no, it's not the magician that gives us the information."

"There is another person," Polly said excitedly. "There's a sage, too, who tells us what we need to know."

They both paused, seemingly unable to find a way to continue the story.

"I expect we'll know how to continue when we find out the information we need," Tom said awkwardly, adjusting his glasses. He looked around at the convergence of narrow side streets. "I don't suppose you remember if we've already looked around here for my car."

Polly squinted. "I don't know," she said doubtfully. It all looks the same to me, really."

* * *

Albus Dumbledore frowned as he stared about him. This certainly was not Hogsmeade. In fact, it looked to be part of the Muggle world. "How did I manage to mix up Portkey locations?" he asked himself aloud, slightly embarrassed. "Oh dear," he added when he noticed two muggles, a man and a girl, staring at him in blank astonishment. Albus had never liked performing memory charms.

But before he could either pull out his wand or attempt to convince the pair that he hadn't actually appeared out of nowhere, a familiar young artist stepped into view at nearly the same time a barn owl alighted on a nearby building. Albus looked at the owl warily, half expecting a letter. The creature appeared to have realized what he was thinking, as it hooted disdainfully and instead regarded the two Muggles intently.

Dumbledore had a feeling he was missing something here.

"You should be more careful what you Create," Helena said when it was apparent Tom and Polly were still too shocked to speak. She strove for sternness, unable to quite make it.

"I beg your pardon?" questioned the long, thin man as he nervously polished his glasses.

Albus settled himself to wait and see what came of this encounter.

"Things can become dangerous if you let your Dreaming get away with you, especially if it manifests itself in this world. I could hear the summons, even if it wasn't directed at me."

"You mean…we really are causing things to happen?" Polly asked wide-eyed. It was one thing to suspect in the back of her mind that the coincidences weren't really coincidences, but it was quite another thing to be told so outright.

Helena frowned. "Something's wrong here," she said softly, more to herself than to anyone else. After a moment's thought, she reached into her bag and drew out the Mirrormask. Sometimes, when she focused and wore the Mask with a purpose, it would allow her to see the influence of certain forces in the world.

"What are you doing?" Polly asked curiously.

When Helena spoke, Albus thought her voice sounded curiously distorted, and he was worried because the last time he spoke to her when she wore the Charm, she had sounded quite normal.

"You aren't Creators," Helena said, and despite her efforts, disappointment leaked into her voice. She had hoped for someone a little like her. Someone who could help her understand.

Suddenly the four heard a series of quick footsteps, just before another young woman burst onto the scene. She leaned over, her dark brown hair obscuring her features as she gasped for breath, but Albus and Helena both recognized Sarah.

"What…on earth…Goblin King?" she panted, looking toward the barn owl after taking in the people and expressions around her. There was a pause as she got her breathing mostly under control. "A summons?" she said in response to the quick explanation Jareth had mentally provided her. If that was what the insistent tugging sensation had been, she rather thought he would have been able to overcome it. Unless he had come out of curiosity.

Sarah turned to the juggler, who seemed to have a better grasp of the situation than anyone except for Jareth, and only then did she truly pay attention to the Mask the other wore. _Oh_, she gasped internally. The magic radiated against her skin and danced along her nerves. It was like a brilliant spotlight, the music of trumpets, horns, and the occasional drumbeat pulsing, weaving, and dancing. It hadn't felt so energizing and brilliant last time. Sarah would have remembered if it had.

"Um…" she stuttered, and then shook her head, visibly collecting herself. "What was the dream?"

Helena blinked, and the two women turned to look at the unusual couple.

Polly took it upon herself to explain, as it looked like Tom hadn't quite found his voice yet.

"Playing the villain again, Goblin King?" Sarah murmured, looking somewhat amused. She returned her attention to the people around her. "So, one of us has the information you need."

"Like I said before, this is not solely your doing," said Helena. "There's a negative influence working through you. Binding you." Her dark gaze bored into that of Thomas Lynn, and the shame and fear of Laurel's influence welled up in him all at once.

"But there's a bond between you two as well," she continued, nodding at Tom and Polly in turn. "Not as strong, but there is a lot of potential, and time for it to grow."

Albus examined their expressions. He could tell the man understood what Sarah and Helena spoke of, though the girl was confused, with only a hint of realization. He noticed again how intently Sarah watched the barn owl, as though listening to something none of them could hear.

"She'll try everything she can to keep him," the actress spoke to the young girl. "But there are rules for every game, and a being such as her has no choice but to follow them, though she will try to bend, manipulate, and deceive. Avoid using her name, or you will draw her attention. There's nothing more I can do." Sarah gestured to the barn owl. "He is bound by the rules not to interfere, and she would recognize his work in a heartbeat anyway." She looked to Helena. "Can you…?"

Helena shook her head regretfully and removed the Mirrormask. She sighed in relief as her vision returned to normal and then spoke. "I can't Create anything in this world, beyond my artwork. I'm not sure I even Created the Mirrormask. I don't remember where it came from."

"Professor?" Sarah said hesitantly. He hadn't said a word since she had arrived.

"I must confess that I am confused," Albus admitted ruefully. "But I offer my services, nevertheless."

There was wary relief in the nervous man's eyes, and enthusiasm evident in Polly's.

Sarah tilted her head to the side, gaze flicking to where the owl watched. "Something to augment their memory of each other. So that even if one is made to forget, it can be remembered over time."

Albus frowned in thought. What she asked was no mean feat, and beyond most wizards. But he was one of the foremost experts in Mind Magicks. He chanted and moved his wand in intricate patterns, sweat beading his brow as his magic flowed from him with each twist and flick. It felt like hours before he felt the mental shift that meant the spell had been applied correctly.

"There," he said, slumping slightly in weariness. "It is done."

"Let me help you, Professor," Sarah said worriedly, offering a steady arm. She nodded at the others. "I'll keep an eye on him until he feels better."

Helena nodded. "I need to get going, or I will be late for my appointment." She walked away with evident reluctance, turning back often to stare after them worriedly.

"It would be best if you try to forget what happened here," Sarah said softly to Polly and Tom. "Else the woman will find out what happened, and take steps to negate it."

Tom nodded as he encouraged his companion to continue their walk, even as Polly looked to be near bursting with curiosity. "Thank you." He wasn't completely at ease, but there was hope where there hadn't been before.


	7. Another Kind of Gruagagh

Harry Potter/Jack of Kinrowan (by Charles de Lint) crossover. It's a little hard to keep track of things in this drabble unless you've read Charles de Lint, but I kind of like how it turned out. And once again, there will be a long wait until the next update, as more reading must be done first.

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SEERS, or Men of the SECOND SIGHT,…have very terrifying Encounters with [the FAIRIES, they call Sleagh Maith, or the Good People].

_-_**The Secret Commonwealth**_** by Robert Kirk and Andrew Lang**_

_Thou hast conquered, O pale Galilean; the world has grown grey from they breath;  
__We have drunken of things Lethean, and fed on the fullness of death.  
_… _Sleep, shall we sleep after all? for the world is not sweet in the end;  
__For the old faiths loosen and fall, the new years ruin and rend.  
__Fate is a sea without shore, and the soul is a rock that abides;  
__But her ears are vexed with the roar and her face with the foam of the tides.  
__[…] Where, mighty with deepening sides, clad about with the seas as with wings,  
__And impelled of invisible tides, and fulfilled of unspeakable things,  
__White-eyed and poison-finned, shark-toothed and serpentine-curled,  
__Rolls, under the whitening wind of the future, the wave of the world.  
__**-Algernon Charles Swinburne, "Hymn to Proserpine"**_

Kate shivered. This close to Samhaine Eve, the night air was chilly, and the sky grew dark earlier, but there was a measure of safety among the lights, iron, and London crowds. She carried a jacket on her arm, but she didn't put it on yet. Dunrobin Finn, a hob skillyman and a good friend, had stitched a spell of invisibility into her jacket, and as she was firmly within the Mortal world at the moment, she didn't want to risk being run over by a car or bicycle.

London wasn't so different from Ottawa, climate-wise at least, and Kate was thankful the language was the same as well. It was the Middle Kingdom of the Old World, the original Faerieland that had her apprehensive, particularly with Samhaine Eve so close, the night when the Unseelie Court ran rampant. She had never truly appreciated how much less powerful were the faeries who had migrated to the New World all those years ago. The original spirits of Canada, the manitou, had withdrawn to their Otherworlds and left the lands to the faeries, to the Seelie Courts, Unseelie Courts, and the solitary fae.

But here – and Kate couldn't help the slight shudder – oh here, in the land that had always belonged to the faeries, they were more powerful. The magic, belief, and luck had built up over the millennia and had soaked into the earth. She suspected some of the gruagagh had even managed to retain a word or two of true power.

Kate loved Faerie, she didn't regret being dragged into it by her best friend Jacky, but she also had a healthy appreciation for its dangers. She had been face-to-face with the worst of Faerie before, had battled giants and a droichan – a gruagagh without a heart that stole the luck that kept Faerie alive.

She was especially relieved that she had managed to convince Jacky to remain at home in the Jack's Tower. Not only because the Laird of Kinrowan and his court needed one of them there to make sure the luck flowed smoothly through the ley lines, but also because Kate didn't want to even _think_ about the trouble a Jack would have attracted here in England. She was simply on an errand that she wanted to be done with quickly, and the luck of a Jack, those clever fools, would more than likely have complicated things.

Kate was brought out of her musings by the sight of an old man with long silver hair and brightly colored robes. For a moment she simply stood there blinking, and couldn't quite tell whether he was visible on the mortal side, or if he was a step sideways in Faerie. He was walking in the mortal world, she decided at last. But it was still strange to see a gruagagh – and what else could he be? – away from his tower. He must have been wearing some sort of spell as well. Otherwise the Londoners would probably be staring.

"Excuse me," she said, changing direction slightly to meet him.

He halted mid-step in surprise. "Yes?" he queried politely and moved so that they were out of the way of the pedestrians.

"You're a gruagagh, right?" Kate asked to clarify.

Albus paused. He was a little surprised that the slight repelling charm had not worked on the woman, and it took him a moment to remember what the English translation of the word was. "Yes, I am a wizard. Albus Dumbledore, at your service," he said with a small bow.

"Kate Crackernut," she said in reply, knowing better than to give anyone related to Faerie her true full name. Crackernut, as Finn had commented upon first meeting her, was a variation of her last name, Hazel. She examined him carefully, feeling nothing unsainly or Unseelie about him, and decided it was safe enough to ask him what she had asked other gruagaghs who served the Seelie Courts. "I was wondering if you had seen a Pook and a Fiddle Wit around."

It had been more than a year since Jemi and Johnny Faw had gone seeking the Bucca. There was no emergency or anything, but Henk, who had been leading the rade for the fiaina sidhe was getting worried, so Kate and Jacky had agreed to look for the pair in their spare time.

Albus blinked. "I'm sorry?" It sounded almost as though she were asking him about a fairy tale.

Kate gave him an apologetic look. "I don't mean to be so blunt. It's just, I've been here for a little more than a week now, leaving my friend in charge of the tower and whatever problems might have cropped up in Kinrowan. She's a Jack, and you know what sort of trouble follows them."

"I think," Albus said slowly, "that you have mistaken me for someone else."

Kate paused. "You don't serve a Laird?"

"I follow the rules of the Ministry, but I don't think that is what you mean," Albus replied carefully.

"And you aren't one of the rebel gruagagh?" Kate asked to clarify, although if he was he probably wouldn't admit to it.

"No," he said. "I am simply the Headmaster of Hogwarts School."

"You're fully human. Mortal."

Albus nodded, unable to keep the confusion from his expression.

"I'm sorry, I thought… Well." She floundered for something to say. "You should be careful about walking around at night with Samhaine Eve not far off. At least wear a sprig of rowan near your heart, for protection."

Ordinarily Albus put little stock in superstitions, but something about Kate's tone and expression had him agreeing to take her precaution to heart.

"And be particularly wary of Samhaine Eve," Kate said as she prepared to depart. "It's a bad night."

Years later, on the Halloween the Potters were betrayed, her words would come back to haunt him.


	8. Believing is Seeing

Labyrinth/Hetalia crossover with mentions of Harry Potter. I have recently become obsessed with Hetalia, thanks to one of my fellow exchange students, and with England/Arthur Kirkland being the only one who can see fairies, unicorns, etc., well, I couldn't resist. The next update will probably take some time, but I will try to use Howl's Moving Castle.

For those who don't know, Arthur Kirkland is the personification of England, and Alfred Jones is the personification of America.

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One must desire something to be alive.  
_-__**Margaret Deland**_

_Not the sweet, new grass with flowers  
__Is this harvesting of ours;  
__Not the upland clover bloom;  
__But the rowen mixed with weeds,  
__Tangled tufts from marsh and meads,  
__Where the poppy drops its seeds  
__In the silence and the gloom.  
__-__**Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "Aftermath"**_

"I could give you your dreams, you know."

Jareth smiled and it was cruel, his eyes fey, his voice persuasive as sin, as he tempted his companion with what he desired most.

"I'm old enough to know better Your Majesty," Arthur Kirkland replied calmly as he raised his teacup to his lips. But his eyes, green as spring leaves, or emeralds, had taken on an otherworldly quality in answer to the challenge. This creature and his race had been a part of him once, after all. He had been very young then, but Arthur had never forgotten. Once every century or so, he would see the Goblin King, and always he tempted him with promises and dreams, because that was in his nature. But he had learned, in the long time he had existed, "There are consequences I doubt I would enjoy. And actually receiving my wish does not mean I will be happy."

Arthur had always been tempted, of course, and he had come so very close to accepting the Goblin King's offer in times past, despite knowing the darkness behind it. If the Goblin King visited more often he likely could have worn him down. But it was far too dangerous to admit such a thing.

"Seducing another innocent, Jareth?" a low, melodious voice spoke.

The two men (or, two with the appearance of men) turned to see a slender young woman leaning against the fence, watching them with a serene expression.

This was not a scene Sarah had ever expected to stumble upon. She had never imagined the Goblin King sitting across from a thoroughly mundane looking man with large eyebrows and a sweater vest and having tea. But she knew better than to judge by appearance alone, and the fairies that flitted around, looking nothing like the pests Hoggle tried to keep out of gardens, was a clue. And this 'ordinary' young man felt old, ancient almost, and so very large. Like a glacier, almost, although without such freezing cold. There was magic there as well, but not like any she had felt before. It felt as though it were both an intrinsic part of him, and at the same time…not.

"Sarah," said the Goblin King lowly. "You do take inordinate pleasure in preventing me from gaining that which I desire." Despite his words, there was a thread of amusement in his tone.

She gave him an easy smile. "Believe what you will, I did come here for a reason. And I had no idea your goblins were so familiar with the transportation system."

"Sarah?" the Englishman murmured, raising his eyebrows. "As in the Champion?"

"My subjects have been telling tales, I see." Jareth glowered at the nearby fairies, who shuddered and dove for any nearby hiding places.

"You shouldn't be so cruel to them," Sarah said with little heat.

The blonde's gaze sharpened. It had been so very long since he had last known a mortal who could See. Not even his fellow nations had the ability these days. But just to be sure…

"Come on in," he said with a friendly smile, and subtly beckoned to one of his fairies to open the gate. "It would be terribly rude of me to let you linger outside my yard." He watched her eyes track his small friend, and saw she was not in the least surprised when the gate unlatched.

"Thank you," she said politely, and stepped inside. It was a beautiful yard; the grass looked almost like green velvet, and clusters of rosebushes sprawled along the edges.

"I'm Arthur Kirkland," he said politely. "Pleasure to meet you."

"Sarah Williams," she replied. "It's nice to meet you as well."

"There was a reason you sought me out?" Jareth said.

"Ah, yes. Hoggle was rather frantic when he called me through a mirror. The Fieries accidentally found their way into the Goblin City, and are currently attempting to get the goblin population to join in a game of body-part hockey. How they managed to get past the patrols neither of us know."

The Goblin King ran a gloved hand over his face and sighed. "Imbeciles," he growled. "My city is going to be in ruins." He stood abruptly, agitation in the stance of his body. Arthur stood as well, out of politeness.

"I do apologize for leaving early," Jareth said to Arthur.

"That's quite alright," his companion replied, successfully hiding his relief. "I do understand the difficulty of running a country, or kingdom as it may be."

"We must do this again some time," the Fae said, and his smile showed more of his teeth than Arthur was comfortable with.

Before he could reply, a loud and somewhat obnoxious voice called from the front of his house. "England! Oi, Iggy, you here?!"

Arthur scowled and grumbled curses under his breath as a young man in glasses with blonde hair and blue eyes crashed into the yard. "Bloody hell, America!" he said irately, and chanced a glance at his guests. Miss Williams was no fool, he recognized ruefully. Already she was putting clues together. But it was the Goblin King's expression that drew his attention, and caused him to forget his usual ire toward Alfred. Protective instinct flared up in him, and his eyes glittered strangely.

Alfred paused as three pairs of eyes turned to him. Normally he loved the attention, craved the spotlight, but right now something like fear held him frozen (but that was ridiculous, because he was a Hero, and he didn't fear anything). There was a fey light in their eyes, even in Arthur's, and for a moment he was terrified that the nation who had raised him would disappear before his eyes, even if he would never ever admit to such a thing because he was independent damn it, and…and….

The strange man that looked almost like some sort of glam rock star took a step toward him, and not even America was oblivious to the danger in that predatory smile. "You do have such big dreams," he said, and suddenly there was a crystal ball in his hands. "I can give them to you, Alfred F. Jones."

And then England moved deliberately, not quite between America and the Goblin King, but nearly. "He doesn't believe in your kind or your subjects, and his dreams do not lend power to you and your kingdom. You would gain very little from making a bargain with him, if you manage to do so in the first place." He met the Fae's gaze, refusing to give in, and for a moment some of his old power from when he was young, centuries before America had existed, flooded his body.

Sarah moved as well, away from the two nations, forcing Jareth's attention on her and off of the normally boisterous young man. "Your kingdom needs its King right now," she said, and there was challenge in her as well. "As you remind me often, you do have responsibilities."

His expression was neutral for a long moment. "You are a worthy opponent, my Sarah," he said at last with the barest hint of a smirk. She knew his words meant, _You are a worthy Queen, my precious_.

Sarah didn't respond to him either way, knowing without a doubt that words could carry great power. She knew that she would need to make a choice soon. Life could not continue on forever in a sort of golden age where she studied what she wished and encountered other dreams with the Goblin King watching over her. But that time was not yet, and despite knowing what her answer would be, she would put it off as long as she could.

In the next instant there was a rush of air, a flutter of wings. Alfred stumbled as the world began spinning around him. What was wrong with him? None of his cities were being attacked, and the economy wasn't bad enough for him to be showing such severe symptoms. When he managed to shake off his vertigo, noticing for the first time that Arthur was steadying him, the strange man was gone and he saw only a white owl flying off into the afternoon sky.

"I apologize for him," Sarah was saying. "When he is upset he becomes rather…" She trailed off, trying to think of the appropriate word.

"I know," England says, absently motioning for her to sit in the Goblin King's abandoned chair. "I have known him for quite some time."

"Well I've never seen him. How come you never introduced me, Arthur?" Alfred pouts, already recovered, his naiveté in full force. But really, he would be more than relieved to never again see the stranger and his hypnotic offers.

"You bloody fool," Arthur sighs, completely mundane once again, nothing more supernatural about him than his fairies and one of Sarah's goblin friends. Not that America could see them anyway. There was a reason Arthur had not made more of an effort to prove to Arthur that his fairy friends were not some sort of delusion on his part. Ignorance was safer, even if the constant jibes were hurtful and annoying. If Alfred could See the supernatural, could pay attention to it, then it would pay attention to him. And that attention was rarely for the good of the person with Sight.

Sarah sat quietly and let them bicker, more interested in the type of fairies that fluttered around the Englishman. Her elbow rested on the table as a small winged creature in green alighted on her palm. "Hello," she whispered, and smiled at the bell-like tones that were pleasing to the ear, even if she couldn't understand the language.

Groul, her small goblin guide, growled lowly. He didn't like the Lady paying attention to fairies. Baring his needle sharp teeth, he launched himself off Lady's shoulder. "Groul!" she shouted, catching him with her free hand as the fairy shrieked and darted away to hide under Arthur's hair, quaking with fright. "You do not attack for no reason," she said sternly, scowling down at him before setting the sulking goblin on the grass as England attempted to calm down his fairy companion.

"Dude," Alfred blurted in astonishment, having only been able to see her catch and yell at thin air. "You're as crazy as he is."

"Alfred, you git!" Arthur shouted. "How dare you say something so rude."

"It's all right," Sarah said tranquilly. "I've been called worse things by crueler people."

Alfred, to Arthur's astonishment, looked unusually ashamed. Generally he was so forward and brash that he rarely even realized what he said could be insulting, much less became uncomfortable about it. "Sorry," he mumbled, scratching the back of his head.

"Like I said, it's not problem. But I really should be going, or I'll be late for work." She paused in the act of pushing in her chair. "Do you know an Albus Dumbledore?" she asked of Arthur.

He smiled. "I take tea with him sometimes. He is a wonderful conversationalist."

"Which name does he know you by?"

The two nations tensed reflexively at the indication that someone who was not a nation or their boss knew what they were. "Just Arthur Kirkland," England replied.

Sarah nodded to herself. "I thought so," she murmured. "Poor man." But really, it was better for Professor Dumbledore not to know these things. To know was to understand, and it would bring him more grief than joy. For someone so open-minded and understanding of dreams, his soul was bound firmly to reality. He bore too many responsibilities to succumb to the dreaming, and so he could never walk that thin line between waking and dreaming because he had already made his choice long ago. It was much too late for that decision to change and so he would remain ever on the periphery, a witness and sometimes helper, a friend and sometimes advisor, but never understanding what or why.

"Have a safe journey," Arthur said politely.

"Thank you. It was nice meeting you two." She turned and walked away, a goblin on her shoulder and stars in her eyes.

Arthur scowled to himself at his sentimental thoughts and turned to his companion.

"You know," America said, "for one of mine she's a little strange."

"She's not yours," England snapped.

"Hey, just because she lives here doesn't make her yours," Alfred said with a frown.

"That's not what I meant," said his fellow nation. "She may have been yours once, but she doesn't belong to any of us now." He sighed. "There are so few dreamers and they pass so quickly, these last few centuries," Arthur murmured as if to himself.

"Eh? What's that old man? You're not talking to your invisible friends, are you?" Alfred said with his usual large grin.

Arthur turned red. "Alfred, you wanker!"


End file.
